


Little Bits

by genee



Category: Actor RPF, Music RPF, Popslash
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-16
Updated: 2006-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genee/pseuds/genee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small collection of v short stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Bits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aproposofnothin](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aproposofnothin), [aquamia](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aquamia), [clumsygyrl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=clumsygyrl), [daisydust](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=daisydust), [msktrnanny](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=msktrnanny), [without_me](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=without_me).



> Some of these are sentence!fics, some are a little bit longer. All were written by request. :)

for msktrnanny: jc/lance, phenomenal  
"Mmmmm," JC whispered, licking low on Lance's back, sweat pooled in smooth hollows, his skin golden from the sun, pink from JC's thumbs, his fingers, his hands, pink from where he'd held on too tight, and JC thought those spots tasted different somehow, sweeter, because Lance was phenomenal like that, could make even JC's own fingerprints taste like something new.

for darkseaglass: joe firstman (any pairing), tequila  
Chris isn't Joe's type, not for a long time now, not really, but there's something about him, about the way he leans against the bar, something about the way he smiles and licks his lips and ducks his head when Joe catches his eye. No, he's not Joe's type at all, except for all the ways that he really is, cowboy boots and belt buckles and solid muscles all over. He's still leaning against the bar at closing time when Joe drapes his arm around those shoulders, breathes in the sticky scent of tequila and Marlboros and thinks about licking that taste out of his mouth, later, both of them all sweaty and spread out. Joe's just about to say something when Chris leans in close, scratch of stubble and the low thrum of his voice, a question Joe couldn't find an answer to even if he wanted to, which he doesn't, not now, not with Chris's hips pressing against his, pressing him back against the bar, warm lips soft and demanding and Joe thinks this is better than waiting, better than later, better than anything else has been in a long long time.

for daisydust: lambs, ipod  
Lance opens the couriered envelope as he walks across the deck, feels his cheeks flush bright when he finds a shiny new Ipod inside, Justin's brand new demos loaded in and a note that says _I need to know. Call me? J._, fresh earbuds wrapped in plastic and tucked inside the case, because Justin's weird like that, and some things never change. Lance holds up the envelope like it's some sort of answer, sunlight bouncing everywhere, but Reichen just rolls his eyes and ducks back under the water. Lance smiles to himself, slips the earbuds on and settles in the chaise by the pool.

for clumsygyrl: jared/jensen, heat  
Sweat prickled Jared's skin, dripped in slow rivulets down his spine. He could hear Jensen laughing across the room, feel the weight of his hand as it stirred the air, fingers pointed at Jared, scent wafting towards him like honeysuckle on a warm breeze back home, hard cock hot against his skin, trapped behind his briefs and hidden by his loose pants, but Jared could smell it anyway, could smell everything about Jensen because Jared was in heat, blue moon rising in the black Vancouver sky, and Jensen, _fuck_ , Jensen was his, and his alone.

for without_me: chris/jensen, fuck-up  
Jensen presses his lips to Chris's hip, blows softly on the bright red line welling up against the creamy skin, hot and flushed now, Chris breathing raggedly above him, his cock hard and curved against his belly and Jensen wants to feel it in his mouth, wants to feel it pulsing against his tongue, filling his throat, and fuck, he wants that bad, but he wants this more, wants it so much he's terrified he'll fuck it up but Chris just moans low in his throat, squirms a little and Jensen breathes deep, sweat and sex and copper, takes a moment just to feel it, the knife in his hand and Chris's fingers in his hair, and then he licks the blood away and traces a new line, closer, Chris's cock straining toward him, ready, always ready.

for aproposofnothin: firstman/kane, afar  
Joe's almost forgotten what it's like in the south this time of year, hot and humid even at night, backwater bars like this one all sticky with bourbon and perfume, girls all squeezed in close down front, their shoulders rubbing, their arms, too, low cut shirts and short short skirts and these used to be Joe's girls, some of them, and maybe they are still, maybe, but Joe sees why they're here now, sees the draw of Chris Kane on stage, sexy slur of his voice down low, sweat in his hair, his eyes, they way he laughs, the way he tucks his hair back and murmurs into the mic and Joe can't quite make out the words but they feel like warm rain just the same.  
Chris catches his eye from up on stage and smiles, lifts his chin and bares his throat and Joe tosses back another shot and thinks about the car keys in his pocket, drags his fingers across the wet wood of the bar and thinks about the satin smooth of Chris's skin, thinks about how it would feel against his, how he'd smell up close, how he'd taste, and Joe grins his biggest grin back at him and orders another round, tosses his keys up on the bar.  



End file.
